


A Human Dream Catcher

by orphan_account



Category: the book thief
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World War Two is over.</p><p>You'd think that would be a good thing.</p><p>Not for Max Vandenburg. He discovers that all of his family members died in concentration camps.</p><p>It's not good for Liesel Meminger either. Her nightmares are getting worse, and even Papa can't get rid of them.</p><p>Who can be Liesel's dream catcher?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Max Vandenburg wandered into the small office building on Munnel Road. He didn't bother to even look at the number of the building – he'd likely only need to set foot in it this one time. He needed a telephone, and he had no lodgings in Munich. He was a wandering vagabond.

He'd tried to find his family, but he was told that they'd been deported to concentration camps and that they had all perished in various gruesome ways. He didn't ask for any more details.

Nothing noteworthy happened to Max beyond that discovery. His nightmares had gotten quite a bit worse, but that was to be expected. He'd been sleeping in gutters for weeks, and his ordinarily feathery hair had yet again become rather like a bunch of twigs that comprised an extremely poorly-built birds' nest.

The only reason Max had been sleeping in gutters and various other unsavory places rather than some of the many inns in Munich was because of his nightmares. People assumed that the screaming man on the street at two in the morning was just crazy. If Max was in an inn and had a nightmare, he'd not only cause a massive disturbance and get himself kicked out – into the gutters, of course, completing the flow of circular logic – but he might also be referred to an asylum.

An asylum was just about the last place Max wanted to go. The only place that might rank lower was home – which, luckily for him, he'd just left.

-

"May I perhaps use your telephone?"

The small, blonde receptionist jumped with a squeak. She looked Max up and down, her eyes staying for a long while on the hole in his long coat. The hole marked where a yellow star used to be sewn. Max had realized that it was his uncle's coat when he had seen the name sewn into the collar, and had taken it before the trash collectors came around.

"Yes. Follow me."

Max sighed gratefully. Though the war was over, some people still showed anti-Semitic tendencies. It seemed that either the receptionist was not one of them, or she at least knew how to be civil about it. He followed the girl, lagging ten feet or so behind her.

In a few moments, they entered a room that must have been used for air control. Electronics covered the walls, mounted on panels, and small red and green lights flashed everywhere.

One corner of the room held a telephone. A bench sat in front of it, and the receptionist gestured for Max to sit. He did so, and reached for the receiver with trembling hands. Dialing a number, he bit his lip as he waited for the recipient of the call to pick up the telephone on their end.

"This is Hans speaking. Who might this be?"

Max ignored the question. "Is it safe?"

"Max?"

"Yes. Is it safe in Molching?"

"It is. Do you need to come?"

"Yes. I have no other place to go. Please, Hans."

"You don't need to ask, Max. Come. Liesel will be delighted – as will I." Hans was silent for a moment, and then deliberately changed the subject. "Her nightmares are worse. Significantly so." The volume of his voice had dropped dramatically – Liesel was obviously in the house. Max would have been surprised if she hadn't been inside, as it was seven o'clock on a winter evening. As it was, he was surprised that she seemed to have just entered.

A yell pierced through Max's pondering. "Get off the damned telephone, _Saukerl_ ! I must speak with Ilsa Hermann, now!" It was quite obviously Rosa.

"I can't at the moment! This is an _important_ conversation!" Hans inhaled deeply, and then released it all in an explosive sigh. "My apologies. Come. When might I expect you?"

"If I'm lucky, I should be there at ten-thirty tomorrow night," Max replied, wishing that he was inside 33 Himmel Street at that very moment.

"Such a long time! _Ah, Rosa_!" Hans's cry of surprise was cut rather short by Rosa slamming down the receiver and effectively ending Max's contact with the Hubermann household until the next day.

Max sat silently on the bench for a long moment after replacing the receiver in its cradle, then stood and said, " _Danke schön_." The receptionist nodded, and cordially showed him the way out.

-

"What was your 'important' conversation, _Saukerl_?"

"I was speaking with Max. I told him it was safe for him here."

"He's got family, hasn't he?"

"By the tone of his voice and his request, I don't think he does anymore."

Rosa sighed. "The poor bastard." She was about to say something else, but before her mouth opened fully, a scream floated at super-speed down the stairs. Hans did not move – it had been at least a year since he had been able to alleviate even one of Liesel's nightmares. It seemed that only Max could solve the problem, if even he could.

-

The train from Munich was rocking uncontrollably. Max had been hoping to sleep, but he couldn't. He realized that he shouldn't dare.


	2. Chapter 2

It was eleven-fifteen when he arrived at the door of 33 Himmel Street, tired and swaying on his feet. His muscles were like lead, and it was a tremendous effort on his part to even manage to take hold of the door knocker, let alone pull it back and release it. But Max managed to do it, and in an instant the door was opened.

The worried face of Hans Hubermann stared out at him. "Max, you probably have ten seconds . . ."

"I can't stay?"

"No, that's not what I mean –" Hans was cut off by what would make Max understand what the older man actually meant.

A piercing scream echoed from up the stairs. Max bolted past Hans and into the house – he knew that he'd be forgiven. What he didn't know was that Liesel's nightmares had not only gotten worse, but they had also become impossible to remedy.

His feet pounded on the creaky wooden stairs, and still the girl screamed.

After what seemed like an eternity, Max shoved open the door to Liesel's room. Without putting even a tiny bit of thought to it, he sat down on the edge of her bed and wrapped his arms around her. "Liesel, I'm back."

Her screams dissolved to tears as she clung to him, rocking back and forth. Her hands grabbed the material of his coat, and she buried her face in his shirt. "Max," she whispered. "You're dead."

"No, I'm not dead. I'm tangible, aren't I?"

Liesel must still have been in her nightmare, for now she looked up, and her enormous brown eyes fixed on Max's swamp eyes. "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"I . . . It's all been getting worse in my head. It's getting harder to pull out every night."

"Even your papa can't help you?"

"No, Papa can't help me anymore. But you did."

"I feel special. Did you read the book?"

"Yes."

"I need paper. I've already gotten an idea for another just because I'm sitting here instead of in a gutter."

"You must have stories to tell as well as to write."

"That I do."

-

Max moved himself down to the basement and insisted on returning to his place under the stairs. He draped a drop cloth where one had been before, securing it to the posts of the staircase with rope.

He began to write that morning.

**The Dream Catchers**

He wrote the title over several times so that it would appear to be bold.

_There was once a little girl . . ._

Max shook his head and took up a new piece of paper.

_In a small town in Germany, there lives a girl in a little house on a poor street._

_She lives on stories._

_But stories are also what scare her the most._

_Every night, a story plays in her mind as she sleeps._

_They are not good stories. They are frightening, and make the girl scared to sleep._

_Eventually, she falls asleep, and a few hours later, she wakes up screaming._

_Her papa used to be able to comfort her and stop her tears. He would read to her, and sometimes he would play music for her. But after a few years, this ceased to comfort the girl. The terrible stories became more terrible._

_The girl has a good friend who she has not seen in some years. He has no family, and he has nightmares too. But he can make hers go away when her papa no longer could._

_The young man – for that is the best way to describe him – is her dream catcher._

_And she is his._

The story only took up a few pages, but Max hoped it would be sufficient.

And it was.


End file.
